


Divide and Conquer

by DarkShadeless



Series: Long live the Emperor (whether he likes it or not) [10]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I love them so much, I swear, Imperial Administration, Marr is done, Nox is just trying to get on with his day, Shenanigans, They're a mess, so is his Emperor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Filling up the empty seats on the Dark Council is a matter of utmost delicacy.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Filling up empty seats on the Dark Council is a matter of utmost delicacy. It requires a certain… political sensitivity.

Yare, who has lived through two years of what felt like constant reassignment as his colleagues decided to throw themselves face-first into one Jedi (or Sith) trap after another and damn the consequences, has more experience in the manoeuvring it takes to get someone’s ass into one of these chairs than he likes to contemplate.

Exhibit A, their current dire lack of councillors.

The only reason the internal workings of the Empire haven’t collapsed outright, he suspects, are a few incredibly overworked ministers one stray Sith plot away from being assassinated.

Oh, my. It seems he is having a cynic day.

That doesn’t change the truth of the matter. As Nox has had cause to learn, no major power hub in this state of theirs is safe unless someone plants themselves in front of it with a lightsaber and sometimes not even then. Every unclaimed Sphere is vulnerable to outside (or _inside_ ) interference. Every vulnerability is a weak spot that might crumble, that the Republic might exploit, that- There’s a reason he doesn’t sleep well these days and it isn’t _only_ the playful murder attempts his social circle is rife with.

They are one major internal failure away from a crisis. If Marr bites it their entire martial branch will be quite literally headless.

That’s… it can be nerve wracking.

They _all_ know this. Or they should. Why, then, are there no less than three empty seats on the Dark Council, you may ask?

As if in answer to the sarcasm Yare is indulging in, Marr all but growls. That he is letting himself go that much is a testament to how much their current topic has been ridden to death.

“Whether we have proof of Rictus’ demise or not, he is _not here_.” _That_ is undisputable. When he does deign to show up no one could possibly ignore him and his eccentricities. “And he hasn’t been since before the last budget conference! We _have_ to replace him.”

Marr has a point, Nox will give him that. They are all busting their butts to get their Spheres up to snuff (the thought alone makes his lekku twitch) and that bantha-fucker can’t be kriffed to turn up to argue over his lack of funding. He hasn’t even _holoed_ them.

At this point he _better_ be dead.

Granted, from what he saw last year they used to… let that slide. Those days are over. Yare doesn’t think their Emperor has let anything slide in his _life_ and if they don’t get a move on he will fix this _for them_. There has been a lot of that going around.

His Highness has deigned to watch them duke it out so far but Nox could swear he can feel him start to lose his temper.

No wonder. They’re on hour two. If the last three months have proved anything it’s that the only thing his Excellency hates more than disorganization is _inefficiency_. Yare never would have thought.

By now he is positive that not a one of them, or any other potential enemy, can hold a candle to those discorporate spectres in their rulers regard. Maybe not even his late master, whom to kill he all but dragged himself out of an early grave for. Maybe not even the _Jedi_.

(That, Nox supposes, depends on whether they try to crash the Empire like a party (again) and make a mess.)

Okay, so maybe the Jedi are still in the running but _the council sure isn’t._ They… unless Yare is mistaken on a bad day they might rate ‘obstacle’. He’s trying to keep those to a minimum.

He has seen what Yon _does_ to obstacles.

 

It is best describes as ‘obliteration’.

Yare has served enough campaigns alongside the rest of the Empire’s Fury to know when to duck. He’s not antagonizing someone who thinks headbutting an ancient, enormous _lava dwelling_ monster is a sound course of action and walks away from the experience **_still thinking that_**.

No. Nope. No can do. Force preserve him. His colleagues have no idea what they did to themselves when they elevated the Wrath from ‘frontline commander?’ to ‘political entity’. They think they’re starting to find out but, oh ho ho. Does he have news for them.

Rictus can be glad he’s head of Mysteries and literally no one has the first idea what he is up to at any point, or their Exalted Emperor might have turned his attention to him sooner. As it is, mysterious or not, his window to resurface from the depths of his pyramid is about to close. Violently.

Mortis, who has rallied to take on Marr today, perhaps made bold by his recent successes in securing their newly elected leader’s favour, waves away their military commander’s displeasure like an annoying insect. “Rictus has not acted against the Empire or the Council in any way. Absent he may be but as long as his Sphere functions as it should there is no precedent to disbar him. I am more interested in _your_ habit of co-opting every Sphere tangentially aligned with your own.”

“ _ **Enough**_.” Their Emperor’s voice cleaves through the argument with implacable finality. “There is precedent **_now_**. The Empire will not wait on Rictus at his leisure and **_neither will I_**. He will **_serve_** or he will **_die_**.”

… make that four empty seats. Oh dear.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In fond memory of the two (2) times my Yon THE MARAUDER was the only person left alive when he killed Gharj in EV.  
> (Don't ask. We're a PvP guild okay XD we could film our runs and put them on youtube under 'PvPers trying to PvE' )


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took a while, mostly because I wasn't sure about parts of it but... here we go. Have fun!

 

 

Four empty seats. Four incredibly large amounts of power just kind of… sitting around. Or rather: two, because the other two have been hogged by a certain someone Yare won’t name. While that might prove to be one of their biggest problems, it is also their only saving grace.

He can see where their Emperor is coming from. With Intelligence hampered, losing control of the Sphere of Mysteries is unthinkable. If they are short on spies and on the retreat in the open field, they need their assassins _more than ever_.

Forget whatever the official half of Rictus’ Sphere gets up to. As long as they don’t summon a Dark Side entity in the middle of Kaas City, they can do whatever they want but going by Yon’s distemper nobody knows what the other half is doing either. That can’t stand.

 _Four empty seats_. Force, four empty _martial_ seats. Of _five_.

Yare has had nightmares that started a little like this.

While he’s still considering if one of those might have been a vision in disguise, his Majesty waves a hand imperiously. “Mortis does have a point, though.”

If one had sucked the air out of the council room then and there, they couldn’t have generated a more fraught atmosphere. Darth Marr hides his stiffening well but those shoulder spikes of his give him away.

Across from him his momentary rival looks not unlike a person who thought they’d spend all day pushing a boulder with their bare hands and suddenly finding out that all it took was a small shove for the thing to come loose. Now that it is rolling it’s out of their control and, possibly, headed in a direction they should have expected but didn’t.

 _Mortis, you fool._ Have they already come to this? Until now no one has dared to attempt to so blatantly use their ruler against one of their opponents. Yare had hoped against hope it would stay that way.

If their regent’s favour once more becomes a weapon in their collective arsenal…

“Marr, have you given thought to passing on the Sphere of Military Offense? I’ll concede you have Strategy well in hand but even you cannot oversee more than one major campaign at a time.”

Space carrot and stick, presented so reasonably that anyone would be hard pressed to argue the point. Yare barely dares to blink as this speeder wreck unfolds with all the explosive potential it holds.

Marr’s hand slowly curls into a fist as if he imagines someone’s throat in his grip, prompting Mortis to pale dramatically. “Not presently. I did not feel there was a need to do so.”

“I see.” Oblivious to what he is causing on the council floor, his Imperial Highness turns his attention to the console of his throne. Rows of data scroll past at speed. “Since circumstances have removed me from the line of succession, Darth Arho is the one it should have fallen to by rights.”

Dear Force, no. If Yon hands Marr’s Sphere to that untenable resource sink someone is going to die. Chances are it would have happened eventually but not like _this_.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches Vowrawn putting a hand over his mouth faux-casually. The gesture doesn’t hide how his brow has furrowed.

Marr’s grip tightens. “… I am aware.” _And I have fought it every second of every day,_ is the end of _that_ sentence.

“Hm.” With an absent flick of his wrist their Emperor dismisses the file he is perusing. “I’m not sure I’m satisfied with his accomplishments. What is your take on him?”

_‘What is your take on the guy I’m about to give one third of your power base to, so he can run it into the ground?’_

Gods, Sar can't have missed the subtext here, can he?

Yare isn’t sure which would be worse, because if he didn't he is cutting Marr down to size on _purpose_ , a confrontation they have both successfully avoided so far.

“Arho is,” there is a certain strained quality to his fellow councillor’s voice, “wasteful. What victories he claims, he wins at any cost. It’s a practice we can ill afford.”

In stark contrast to the charged topic their Emperor leans against his seat and says, idly, “So I gather.”

There’s a pause. It takes Nox a moment to realize that this is the point where Ravage should have snapped something at _someone_. His (very permanent) absence has left its marks. They are off kilter, all the more so for the how of his eviction.

Serevin hasn’t yet performed to their master’s satisfaction. Last Yare heard he was still running a tally on reforms and aging a year for every private audience at the palace.

Another Sphere they are short, today if not for long.

The silence stretches. Slowly Marr uncurls his fingers and folds his hands in his lap. He turns his helmet away from their Lord’s provocative ease and Nox is tempted to wince. “You have someone in mind.”

Their Emperor’s presence curls through the room like the hint of a smile, a flash of fangs bared. “I do.”

“Who?”

If Yon is ruffled by Marr’s bluntness he doesn’t show it. He drums his fingers on his armrest, casually as you please and then he throws the equivalent of a small cluster bomb into the chamber. “I like Malgus for the position.”

Vowrawn’s eyebrows shoot up. Mortis suddenly seems to have swallowed his tongue, which goes well with Acina’s delicate grimace.

 _Marr_ for his part grows very still. “Malgus hasn’t shown any inclination to ascend to the council.”

If by that he means ‘ _Malgus has done his level best to avoid it while giving us the kriffer’s salute every chanced he gets’_ he’s about right. Add a helping of ‘ _and that’s mutual_ ’ and you’re good to go.

Yare has the sudden and visceral need to bury his face in his hands and laugh, or maybe cry. He hasn’t been around for most of that dispute but it’s one of those gifts that keeps on giving. If politics was an entity Malgus could strangle he would. As it is it seems he has settled on making its heralds’ lives a misery where he can. Imagining him on the council floor is nothing short of comical in a deeply masochistic way.

“We shall see. Do you think you can work with him?”

A stray current of the Force snags Yare's attention. It is so faint he almost misses it, drowned in the less than subtle power struggle their Emperor has invoked. Darth Marr’s gaze sweeps through the hall, past Ravage’s and Rictus’ empty thrones. His aura is unreadable.

After a moment he says, his voice the next best thing to soft, “We can find an arrangement, I’m sure.”

 _For the Empire_ , shimmers through so clearly to Yare’s senses it might as well have been spoken aloud. It figures, Marr would do near anything if it gets their nation ahead.

Again, Yare glances in Vowrawn’s direction. One of the first things he came to realize after he dove into this snake pit was this: Sometimes that sly old coot is the best gauge of what the frell is going on you’re gonna get. Vowrawn has played this game for over fifty years.

He can be tricky to read but Yare prides himself in being a little more astute than most on that front. He grew up depending on entirely different physical cues than his fellow councillors, owing to his species alone. It gives him certain advantages in learning curve and attitude. Case in point, he doesn’t think any of them have bothered yet to find out that his lekku movements actually _mean_ something.

That’s just as well, not all of those are voluntary.

Vowrawn for his part has regained his suave composure. The Pureblood’s eyes flicker from Marr to the empty seats as their military commander’s had, just once.

The implication is, or should be, obvious.

Into the tension that’s thick enough to cut, their overlord adds blithely, “I hear he has a promising apprentice, as well. Perhaps you may consider instructing him in the ways of the Sphere of Military Strategy, should you have the time. It only ever takes one stray Jedi strike team, Marr.”

The pointer to their former Emperor’s demise is as obvious as it is undeniable. Marr bows his head faintly in grudging assent. “As you say.”

Well-meant warning or threat? Acquiescence or a bared lightsaber? Yare almost lets himself get sucked into the undertow of an exchange of blows he is too used to.

Something isn’t right. The feel of the entire affair is off. The Force whispers to those who pay attention, quiet, quiet. Blink and you miss it.

He tries to track that impression to its source, all the way back to-

 

_Do you think you can work with him?_

_We can find an arrangement, I’m sure._

 

Actually, how does Marr feel about Malgus? He’s a political _non-entity_ , a thorn in their side because of his-

His… unorthodox… practices and views.

Nox has to clamp down on his own presence, to keep it as smooth and undisturbed as possible.

Ravage. Darth ‘if that alien wades through rivers of blood I _might_ consider them Sith’ Rictus. Small, sweet gifts of budgetary subventions that Yare has been slaving over in an attempt to stretch them so he can do some shlurping good where it is needed. He has been hiding the expansion of his Sphere’s educational programs for the less privileged in his fiscal reports from day one, the very same he got raked over the coals for, but his reprimand wasn't for _misuse_.

Malgus. One of their most accomplished commanders, with the tact of a battering ram and a patchwork collection of underlings owed to the fact he promotes for merit and merit alone.

Yon is… is he- he wouldn’t. He’s old blood through and through, that’s half the reason no one argued with his election.

What’s more, he doesn’t _do_ long cons. It’s a wonder he is doing as well on the throne as he is. Really, his lack of penchant for plotting is ludicrous seeing who his master used to be, just look at how he keeps kicking up the Dark Council like a hornet’s nest, dissenters and allies alike-

_Kriff me. That bastard is playing us like a damned fiddle._

“Very well.” Yon draws him from his contemplations to the present. He sounds the faintest bit smug, self-satisfied like a well-fed nexu, as a Sith should after putting another in their place.

Is Yare seeing things? Is he wrong? Is he right? Dear kriffing stars, he almost wishes he hadn’t caught on, if there is anything to catch on to. Which there might not be.

“Let’s move on. I have some thoughts on the Sphere of Mysteries, but they will keep until we have ascertained what state it is in. Who is in charge of the next inquiry?”

Malora, girded with a pile of data sticks that makes faint dread well up in Nox just at the sight of them, rises with determination. That she can elbow her way into the aftermath of Marr’s near demotion (but was it?) without an ounce of hesitation is actually somewhat admirable.

“That would be me, my Lord. I have reviewed our terraforming projects in depth and come to the conclusion…”

Something tells Yare that conclusion is premediated by a report with no less than five hundred pages on plants, animals and soil composition. It took Malora about a month before she realized his Excellency will actually indulge her scientific expertise and take ruthless advantage of that with the hunger of someone whose contributions are generally ignored or underestimated if she isn’t expounding on weapons of mass destruction.

Looks like they'll be here for a while yet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I have found out why Nox does his own budget, the sneak.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Yare makes it through the entirety of Malora’s lecture on how to literally wring water from rocks without nodding off. Once you catch up to the technical jargon it’s quite fascinating. Deeply worrying at some points but _fascinating_.

That’s helped along by her recent tendency to make the presentation of her highly experimental undertakings to violate the laws of nature palatable for someone who has spent the better part of his education stabbing things.

A scientist their Emperor is not.

He makes an effort to be attentive regardless, which Yare has to give him kudos for seeing as some of his colleagues are visibly sleeping with their eyes open. Just a few weeks ago that would have infuriated Malora to no end. Now it seems she does not give a damn, if she even notices in her fervour to share her insight with the one person who _matters_. Her eyes glow with inner light.

It’s somewhat alarming to watch. As she reaches her conclusion, her passion feeds into an intensity that coasts on the edge of blazing.

“In short, my Sphere is ready to move on to live trials, with your permission, my Lord. I estimate it would take less than a year to make significant progress that would aid us in the reclamation of difficult terrain. The possibilities are _endless_.”

A bold proposal.

Yare can’t help but note that the undertone of curdled rage he associates with Darth Malora’s past attempts to win support for her projects is absent. It has been replaced by a touch of something clearer, if no less driven.

She falls silent, waiting for his Highness’ verdict with what Yare is tempted to label ‘baited breath’. He suppresses a shudder. Force, he needs to stop reading the romance novels Ashara keeps smuggling into his holo-book queue. Nox isn’t sure if that’s her latest attempt to reform him or a prank but either way it’s starting to have an impact.

His Highness, the most powerful Sith in the entire galaxy and certainly this room, musters his minion thoughtfully. “And for that you need,” he glances at his copy of the proposal, “a planet?”

Kriffing _hells_ , how did that get past him. Damn, Malora is good.

Two seats over Acina jolts to attention, so at least he’s not the only one who missed her shameless grab for funding. Oh dear. If the Sphere of Biotic Science gets that kind of resource acquisition past the budgeting they’ll have a civil war on their hands.

… actually if they get an entire planet, Nox might be in on that. How dare they. He’s working with scraps over here and his division is twice as important. The entire Imperial Reclamation service hangs on that flimsy budgetary thread and if the other Spheres try to carve away at that any more than they already have he is going to murder someone.

Possibly the Head of the Sphere of Biotic Science, if she gets them an _entire planet_. The _audacity_.

The sudden wash of envied outrage that thunders through the council chambers and shakes awake even Darth Arrid where he is leaning into his throne as listless as usual seems to fly under Emperor Sar’s radar.

Or maybe he just ignores it. Yare has seen that man shrug off tactical missiles, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Their overlord clicks his tongue. “I will review your options.” Malora fairly _shines_ with glee. The murderous atmosphere ratchets up a notch.

Finally their ruler deigns to glance over the rest of his council with an air of long-suffering tolerance. “Be advised that you will likely gain access to a moon-classed entity and adjust your calculations accordingly.”

Malora’s face falls. The flashfire of aggression that has taken over the hall stutters and spits.

A moon is still a _moon_. It’s not a planet but it’s- Darth Malora bows stiffly and gathers up her files to retreat to her throne with ill grace. In passing she favours Acina and Nox himself with a venomous look. There’s no question who she blames for that compromise.

Yare returns it with feeling. A _planet_ , seriously.

Their Emperor generously gives them all a chance to sulk before he reclaims the reigns. “Very well. Lord Arrid, is something the matter?”

During Nox’ distraction the Head of Sith Philosophy has taken the floor. Interesting, he wasn’t on the docket.

Actually… Arrid, not quite in the correct spot to do a presentation, looks a little confused about how he got there. He shakes his head and mutters something inaudible. Then he takes another step, sideways this time. Stars and void, he’s swaying. Is he drunk?

Emperor Sar is watching the spectacle with a delicate frown. Something about the whole situation makes all of Yare’s alarm bells ring.

That’s about when he sees it, out of the corner of his eye, hanging over Darth Arrid like a malicious cloud.

Oh _Force._

Nox is on his feet before he has time to think, a spell already on his lips. Shock splinters though the room. There are _rules_ for this kind of thing, as ridiculous as that feels sometimes. Attacking a Councillor unprovoked and without proper procedure can get you killed, _must_ get you killed or anyone could do anything whenever they please-

These things occur to Yare on some level but they have little influence on his actions. He is in the grip of something much more deeply ingrained.

Under Arrid’s feet a rune circle flickers to life in poisonous green. The man stares down at it blankly for a moment before something kindles in his eyes in sparks of rage and corruption. His face turns into a mask of fury. “ _You dare!”_

His snarl is dual toned, buzzing and distinctly female. Yare’s colleagues freeze where they are halfway out of their own seats.

Who or whatever has taken possession of Arrid’s body jerks their hands up. Nox evades a streak of lightning still chanting. Ghosts. Why is it always ghosts!

He ducks another flurry of purple-tinged electricity. “Can I get a little help over here!”

Force have mercy on his spirit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi and to illustrate how much of a hot mess Sith politics is: Arrid? I did not have to make this up. I _could have_ but I didn't. Canon is the gift that keeps on giving.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really be learning for my test tomorrow. Oh well.

 

 

Between the combined might of the full Dark Council, reduced in numbers as it may be, they make short work of the interloper. It’s Darth Marr that proves that in gratuitous enough application brute force will solve any problem and hits Arrid over the head when the containment circle fails to hold him. He stays down.

Nox peers at the unconscious form suspiciously. With Force-ghosts you never know. You’ll think you’re shod of them and they’ll pop back up like a jack-in-the-box.

Beside him, in the true spirit of her Sphere, Malora toes Arrid’s robe-clad side experimentally. “What got into _him_?”

“That’s what **I** would like to know.”

Their Emperor’s cool voice crawls up Yare’s spine and seizes his hindbrain. His lekku curl defensively. He’s not the only one stiffening under that tone. “Uhm.”

“ _Yes,_ Darth Nox?”

His colleagues manage to take a half step back without seeming like they’re actually actively moving away from him. Nox finds himself facing Emperor Sar’s stare head on, Lord Arrid’s probably-not-corpse on the floor beside him. Fantastic. “I saw a spiritual imprint?” Wow, that sounds competent. “I mean,” Yare clears his throat, “he was showing signs of possession, my Lord.”

“Is that so.” It’s remarkable how Sar manages to pack the hint that he is coasting on the last vestiges of his patience into three entirely flat words. It really is. Yare’s lekku-tips go a little cold.

“Yes?”

Their Emperor, first of his name and about to lose his temper, sighs deeply. It sounds less like an expression of disappointment and more like a targeted measure to hold on to the thin veneer of his calm and collected demeanour. “And how long do you recon he was possessed?”

Nox grasps for an answer he doesn’t have and _that_ is when he realizes what his Emperor is getting at. Kriffing hells. “I… I don’t know.”

From the moment he took office, Arrid hadn’t shown any sudden changes in behaviour. He had always been quiet, sequestered to his throne when he did show up to meetings and never interacted with Yare in a meaningful way. While Yon was still Wrath he had to drag him to the budget conference every time. Yare thought he was just… like that. He had wondered on and off how Arrid managed to get a seat in the first place if he didn’t give a damn but he had never… he had never…

The weight of Emperor Sar’s attention moves on from his person and he takes a small breath of relief. At least he has an excuse for this. Not a good one but he has one.

“Anyone else? No?” No one makes a move to answer. Marr has bowed his head and gone tense as a spring. Force, they have no idea how long Arrid has been like this either. A member of the Dark Council, the person responsible for the entire system dedicated to schooling young Sith, was high-jacked by an unknown entity and _no one_ noticed. Nobody.

Their ruler’s judgemental silence speaks for itself.

They have the chance to contemplate the ramifications of what just came to their attention, as the spiritual pressure on the room lifts slowly, if not fully. “I hope you all intend to learn from this. I know I do." That's not ominous. "Nox.”

Only years of practice make Yare straighten instead of flinch. Some habits he has not quite managed to wear out of himself. “Yes, your Excellency?”

“Can you fix,” his Highness waves an armor-clad hand at the heap of Sith that is, or possibly was, Arrid, “that.”

Maybe? Going by experience, that chance is not a hundred percent. Who knows how much of Arrid is left in there. Still, “I can try.”

“Wonderful. His Sphere is yours to manage for the time being.”

Yare misses what kind of reaction his colleagues have to _that_ by dint of his mind refusing to process that proposition for a moment. An entire additional Sphere? A Sphere that has gone possibly unsupervised for who knows how long? And _Sith Philosophy_. The sheer amount of _power_. The _work_. Oh Force, he is going to die. It’s a toss-up if that’s going to be owed to an assassination.

Acina decides to try and save his life, though he is sure she doesn’t see it that way, when she ventures hastily, “My lord, what’s to stop him from, well. Making that a permanent position by acting to Lord Arrid’s disadvantage?”

What a nice way of saying Nox might off his competition for fun and profit.

Their Emperor huffs. “I trust he is aware that Lord Arrid has just disqualified himself. He will not be leading anything any time soon and as we discussed today, at length, the reassignment of a Sphere cannot wait. Whether he recovers or not his seat on this Council will no longer be his unless he manages to reapply.”

They all chew on _that_ new way to lose their position. Yare makes a mental note not to get possessed again. That’s enough of a hassle without getting fired over it.

With a moue of distaste Mortis visibly grasps for words. Three guesses what that is about and the first two don’t count.

“But… he’s an alien!” the Head of Law and Justice finally settles on, before adding in a rushed tone, “He is hardly qualified to lead the Sphere of Sith Philosophy. Maybe someone with more experience, someone more _seasoned_ …”

_Someone like yourself?_

Their overlord throws Mortis a look that makes the bleating bastard all but swallow his tongue. Yeah, perhaps age is not the criteria he is looking for here. If Nox hadn’t beaten their illustrious leader to that record their Lord and Master would be the youngest person in this room. Yon can’t be thirty yet. Yare would dare to bet that was a nice surprise for a few of his colleagues when his mask came off. 

“His qualification is hardly a matter of contention. Nox’ petitions show _vision_. I am inclined to lend him my confidence in this matter.”

Yare can _feel_ the entirety of the remaining Dark Council turn their attention on him. Mortis breathes tonelessly, “Petitions, my Lord?”

Damn it and here he had managed to get those in over the official channels that didn’t require Council-wide review. It’s none of their business what he does with his Sphere!

He would swear a ghost of a smile plays over their Emperor’s lips as he continues to season him for the sharks he is throwing him to. “Sadly, I am not in a position to grant them all but his work has promise. It’s good to see someone take such a pro-active approach to their role.”

What has Yare ever done to him? Even _Marr_ is looking his way with interest and he tends to mostly ignore him. He was _fine_ with his reputation as a book-worm upstart, thank you very much.

On the other hand, carpe diem. Nox takes in the considering and slightly worrying silence... and throws a pebble into that pond before he can talk himself out of it, “You know, I have an apprentice.”

Their ruler pauses in whatever he was going to say next. His amusement is undeniable now. “Do you?”

“Two actually.” Yare grasps for something that will work in his favour. Traditional arguments don’t tend to make much headway with his Highness. “They’re very… responsible?”

Is that even a good idea? Should he really put that kind of power into Ashara’s hands? Is she the right person for this? Is Xalek? Too late now. He’s all-in.

On his elevated throne Sar chuckles quietly. “Why not? Have them put in a proposal. Goals, timeline, rough budget plan. The works. Something that tells me what to expect of their service.”

… Nox’ apprentices are either going to kill _him_ for doing this to them or _each other_ in an attempt to out-do one another. If the rest of the Dark Council doesn’t get there first on either account, that is.

Neither possibility does anything to curb the elation that is slowly taking up residence in his chest. They’re living in a brave new world, aren’t they? You just have to be ready to take full advantage of it.

 

* * *

 

“That was quite the adventure today,” Vowrawn observes absently. He glances at where their fearless leader has taken the opportunity of the emptying hall to free himself of his seat and stretch out his kinks surreptitiously.

Vowrawn can sympathize. He has learned his lesson a long time ago. Even these new thrones, courtesy of their relocation of the council chambers to Kaas City, are murder on your spine unless you smuggle in some extra cushioning.

“Is that a complaint or a compliment?” Marr sounds as if he has aged a decade in the last four hours. Mostly he sounds aggravated with an edge of exhaustion. Telling, that this much of his state of mind is leaking through his shields.

Vowrawn breathes a small laugh. There’s nothing to give you a shock to the system quite like a young one lighting a fire under your ass. “Why, such cheek.”

“I could say the same.” Fatalistic as ever.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Of course it’s not, at least not quite. As their Emperor proved again today he is more than capable of a few surprises. How his colleagues have remained wilfully blind to that is anyone’s guess. _Vowrawn_ hasn’t bothered with assumptions where Yon’Sar al Thum is concerned from the moment their dear Wrath introduced himself by smashing any he might have had. He has yet to regret that.

At the head of the hall their Emperor brushes a wrinkle from his robe and stands. His white armor shines against the gloomy backdrop. If he is tired it doesn’t show. Sar is easier to read without his mask but not by much. Vowrawn can’t say he minds. It keeps things interesting.

The young lord’s voice throws a quiet echo that reaches them even at the doors. That’s rather why he prefers to linger over here.

"Sewlor."

The Emperor's second apprentice peels himself from the shadows of his throne. Without pause or hesitation he turns his back on the straggling members of the Council that have remained behind and kneels for his master.

A dangerous position, or it would be, if there was a single doubt that his Grace would end anyone _brutally_ who dared touch one of his students in his presence. The possessive care he shows them breeds the most beautiful results, though it has its pitfalls.

If Vowrawn didn't know the young Sith giving his ruler his due was the same boy that used to follow in the Wrath's footsteps he would be hard-pressed to believe it.

Slip of a thing, that one, skittish and distrustful. The first time Yon had brought him along to one of their meetings they had reminded Vowrawn of nothing so much as a war-bred tuk’ata with a half-starved cub hiding in their shadow.

That was three years ago. In that time their Emperor’s lesser known student has shot up and filled out as if he is trying to catch up to _Marr_. He’s not quite there yet but Vowrawn wouldn’t bet against him. His confidence has made similar leaps and bounds and no wonder.

_Lesser known but no less prized._

In a rare display of favouritism their Emperor reaches out to tip his student’s chin up, fondness softening the stern lines of his face. “I have a mission for you,” he says the way someone else may promise their dear pet a gift.

“Of course, master.” The poor child has eyes for no one but his teacher. He doesn’t even know what will be asked of him yet.

Vowrawn knows the type. He’s tempted to sigh. Loyal to fanaticism and dedicated beyond reason. It’s doubtful young Sewlor is ever going to take to the finishing touches of a Sith’s path to greatness. His fellow student, on the best way to claiming her full lordship, is not quite this bad but not much better.

A tragedy, though he has to admit that perhaps these qualities are appropriate in their position. Their Emperor hardly requires succession yet.

A small, pleased smile curls Sar’s lips. “Find me Rictus or whatever is left of him. He has been remiss in his duties. Dead or alive, I’ll leave that to you.”

_Find me my wayward Dark Lord among Sith, my leader of assassins and keeper of secrets. Find him and drag him back to me, or gift me his skull to hang on my wall._

A mission that might once have been given to their Emperor himself, when he was not. When he was Wrath. Vowrawn slots this into his ever growing collection of game pieces and idle facts. You do collect the juiciest of gossip eavesdropping.

It seems their adventure is not over in the least. How _wonderful_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vowrawn is possibly the only person having the time of his life here, now that Marr has had his Disney moment disturbed. Poor baby.  
> But this concludes the meeting from hell! :D ... for this week


End file.
